


Acts of the Flesh

by FreshBrains



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum
Genre: Blasphemy, Community: femslash_kink, Demonic Possession, Dubious Consent, F/F, Lingerie, Masturbation, POV Jude, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Seduction, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: Jude knows what her own sin is. But in this room, she could pick from any number of them shared between them both.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2016 prompt: [Sister Mary Eunice/Sister Jude, blasphemy kink](https://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/19252.html?thread=2672436#cmt2672436).
> 
> The **dubious consent** tag is due to the fact that while possessed!Mary Eunice may enjoy Jude's attentions, real!Mary Eunice may not. It is ambiguous, though, and Jude knows that. Better safe than sorry!

The real Sister Mary Eunice appears in fits and starts, like a light-bulb that has long needed changing. She’s a weak thing one moment, shaking and crying like a doe, and then she’s _not_ —she’s something much stronger, something Sister Jude craves and fears in equal measure.

She cannot always tell which version she enjoys more, and perhaps that is her greatest sin—avarice, _greed_ , the relishing in the mystery.

“You’re a shame to our church,” Jude says, backed up against the plaster wall of Mary Eunice’s bedroom, damp palms pressed flat against the surface. “You’re a shame to our _God_.”

Mary Eunice laughs, tinkling and wicked, a laugh that surely would never come from the meek woman who bent to Jude’s will and her cane. But deep down, Mary Eunice is still herself, and she’s always suffered nicely under guilt. “A _shame_ , of course I’m a shame. His biggest, some would say.” She’s wearing an old habit, one with ties at the back holding the collar up instead of buttons, and she reaches back to undo them like they’re bikini strings. “But since you’re my _mentor_ , my _sister_ , enlighten me.” The habit slips down her body like air, revealing Jude’s red silk slip. “What is my sin?”

Jude can’t tear her eyes away from all that peach-pale skin, all the folds and whispers of red lace hushing against Mary Eunice’s thighs. She knows what her own sin is. But in this room, she could pick from any number of them shared between them both.

The room reeks of _lust_ , the cloying musk of sex and anticipation. Mary Eunice’s bare legs gleam under the dim lighting, her black heels clack against the floor. She walks like a tramp, all cunt and tit, the strap of the slip falling off one creamy shoulder, and finally stops in front of Jude, a teasing smile on her lips. “Make me confess,” she purrs, fingers edging towards the buttons on Jude’s habit.

Mary Eunice’s eyes would attest to gluttony. Her pupils are fat, blown with arousal, her cheeks pink and eager. “Feel,” she says, grasping Jude’s wrist, and Jude allows her hand to be lowered between Mary Eunice’s legs. The silk rucks up between her thighs, not allowing skin-to-skin contact, but as Mary Eunice urges Jude to rub and press, a crimson-dark wet spot blooms on the fabric.

“Always wanting more,” Jude hisses, “like a child at the candy store.” But the pads of her fingers are addicted to this, the slickness against the silk, the way Mary Eunice wriggles her hips into the touch. Jude _shoves_ , backing Mary Eunice and her clunking shoes towards the bed. “Facedown, Sister.”

“Oh, time for _atonement_ ,” Mary Eunice says gleefully, but that’s not what either of them wants. Atonement means tears and clutched rosaries and hard wood under creaking knees. Atonement does not belong in this room. Mary Eunice’s blonde hair fans like a cap over her shoulders as she gets up on her hands and knees, the small of her back dipping towards the bed.

She’s not wearing panties under the slip, and her ass and cunt are plump and slick, begging to be bitten, to be _savored_.

“Spread your legs,” Jude says, voice raw, and she wants to undress but doesn’t have the patience. The front of her habit gapes open, revealing a modest brassiere, a stark contrast against all the decadence laid out on the bed. Her cunt throbs for it, for the way Mary Eunice obeys her, knees shifting on the wool blanket. “Let me see every shameful bit of you.”

Mary Eunice just laughs and groans like a woman dying and ascending to heaven. She reaches back with one hand, holding her cunt open, revealing the red slick of her sex. She smears her arousal with her fingers until her thighs and ass are gleaming with it. “Here I was hoping you’d sodomize me quicker than this,” she says, voice so mean and full of hate it makes Jude shiver.

With shaking hands, Jude makes the sign of the cross. _I will not ask for your forgiveness_ , she thinks, and cups Mary Eunice’s sex with one hand, caressing the heat of her. _I do not deserve it, and I do not want it_.

Mary Eunice keens, dropping her body a bit to put more pressure on her cunt, to get Jude’s hand hotter and wetter. “It’s better inside,” she cajoles, glancing over her shoulder at Jude, and for a horrifying second, her eyes are _red_ , red like blood and sunrise and the devil himself, and Jude gasps and pulls her hand back, only to plunge two fingers straight into the velvet of Mary Eunice’s cunt. It’s like a reflex, crooking her fingers, pressing her thumb to the tight furl of Mary Eunice’s ass—the only logical decision.

Mary Eunice’s body goes rigid. Jude thinks the other woman is reaching her climax, swiftly and sloppily like a tramp, but instead, Mary Eunice lets out a yelp and twists away from Jude’s touch. “Sister, what are you _doing_?” Her eyes are clear and wet, pupils like pinpricks, face pale, and now she’s all Mary Eunice, body free of sin.

She scrambles back onto the bed, crawling away from Jude, thighs still slick with her own juices. Jude is gone before any words can be spoken, fleeing down the hallway, hastily buttoning her habit.

_Be merciful to me, O God, because of your constant love,_ Jude recites in her head, heart hammering in her chest. _Because of your great mercy wipe away my sins_. Her heart beats between her legs, her clit engorged and rubbing sweetly against the sensible cotton of her underwear. She’s barely shut and locked in her own bedroom when she is yanking up the cumbersome fabric of her habit and pressing two fingers into herself, the flat of her palm grinding her clit against her pubic bone. _Wash away all my evil and make me clean from my sin_.

She’s used to this, now. Sister Mary Eunice is like sinful foreplay, like a sip of wine or drag off a cigarette, and this stolen moment up against her bedroom door, the old walls creaking around her, is the actual sex. Her hand works in a short, hard rhythm—it won’t be fast, not at her age, not with all she’s done and seen. But it’s effective, and by the time she comes, her body is sweet and aching with relief, her chest heaving, her eyes glazed over.

In an afterthought, she finishes her prayer, wet fingers clasped around the cross at her neck. _I recognize my faults. I am always conscious of my sins. I have sinned against you—only against you—and done what you consider evil._ _So you are right in judging me; you are justified in condemning me._

Jude doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring. Perhaps more blonde waterfalls of hair and slutty perfume and red lace peeking out from beneath hemlines. Perhaps downcast eyes and extra _hail marys_ and ugly sobbing next to the chest full of punishments. Jude will savor both.

_I have been evil from the day I was born; from the time I was conceived, I have been sinful._

Jude turns out her lights without saying her nightly prayers. She knows that tonight, they mean nothing.


End file.
